


A Chance Encounter

by Forsaker



Series: The Way of the Sorceress [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, tags will differ per chapter and be stated beforehand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2020-08-20 09:28:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20225593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forsaker/pseuds/Forsaker
Summary: Strange are the vagaries of fate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Enthusiastic consent, anal sex, deepthroating, incest (f/f)

The sprawling labyrinth seemed like the perfect place to get away from the bustle of the masquerade crowd. The novelty of the ball had worn out quicker than anticipated, so while Geralt ‘took care of something,’ Triss decided take a stroll away from all the noise. The garden seemed deserted enough and she made her way through the winding paths of the maze, wine glass in hand, soft breeze caressing her face. As she strolled between the verdant walls, she caught snippets of other people’s conversations, a drunken laughter here, a hushed word of confidence there.

Further down, the sound of flowing water reached her and sure enough, after a few more steps she found herself in a somewhat larger opening in the maze, with an elaborately adorned fountain placed at the center. For such a beautiful little nook it was surprising there were no people about; clearly she’d progressed much further down the labyrinth than most guests would dare to venture. To be fair, most guests also didn’t have magical powers to rely on should they find themselves lost. With that in mind, she decided to delve deeper, running her finger under the falling water as she circled the fountain and proceeded down the opposite path. Judging by how vast the maze looked from the stairs at its entrance, she wouldn't have made it even a quarter of the way in. Part of her wondered if she should head back for Geralt’s sake, but she also liked the idea of him fumbling about for the exit as he looked for her. That should teach him to ignore her, and the very clear signals she’d been giving him all night. What the hell could he be ‘taking care of’ anyway?

Here the silence was noticeably more oppressive. If she hadn’t known any better, Triss would’ve thought a silencing spell has been cast on this part of the maze, as all of the chatter from the main crowd behind her was now completely drowned out. Predictably, no voices in her immediate vicinity could be heard either, and even the birds flying above did so inaudibly. It was this vague feeling of unease imposed by her surroundings that triggered a memory for the sorceress.

Rumors had it that Lady Vegelbud had in her vanity hidden a large portion of her wealth at the very center of the labyrinth. Supposedly, it was meant to lure the hapless people desperate enough to go after it, only for them to fail each time due to the spell concealing it. Likely some strange bit of fun for a bored yet wealthy woman, though Triss couldn’t really say if there was any truth to it. Certainly the spell would pose no problem if she were to encounter it, unless they were a multitude that would take a long time to break. And the riches... those would be more than welcome in her current predicament.

For one, it would allow her to bribe the Novigrad guards with coin rather than the usual way. The sometimes foul taste in her mouth was easy to avoid if she applied herself to the task and swallowed fast enough. The problem was when her usual two contacts brought ‘a couple of friends.’ In those cases, Triss would leave with the guard postings in hand, yes, but also aching knees, a sore throat and a disheveled appearance – skin flushed, hair strands sweaty and eyes tearing up: a none too subtle reminder of how many men had just finished roughly using her throat as a semen depository. It wasn’t easy, but she’d done it enough times she even started joking with herself: if her path in life doesn’t pan out, she always had a bright future joining a circus as a sword swallower.

But that would not be the only thing she could use the treasure for. Smuggling the magic folk of Novigrad outside of the city was a long-term enterprise that required coin. And since she couldn’t exactly earn it through her sorcery, she resorted to her former profession. The old woman who had rented her the house for a few measly coppers was as hard of hearing as she was of poor sight, so Triss had found the perfect place to open her doors to men (and women, occasionally) of the city. The trade was about the same as she remembered. Some men took her hard and rough, others were as guilt-ridden as they were quick to finish. Women felt starkly into two categories, with one wanting to dominate her, and the other being extremely shy and tentative. Needless to say, Triss very much enjoyed bringing the latter out of their ingénue shells and introducing them to increasingly deeper levels of depravity.

There had been some hiccups, of course. Sometimes she’d get carried away, and treat her customers to more than they’d paid for. One moment she’d be on her knees, bobbing her head with bursts of cum filling her mouth, the next – she’s ‘be stroking the man to renewed hardness to then place her pussy above him, before impaling herself on the rigid member with a blissful sigh. Her own arousal needed tending as well, after all. And though she liked to think of herself as being above such things, there was a definite pattern to it: The more handsome the man, the more she’d allow him to get away with.

Getting taken by some hairy, pot-bellied bastard had her suppressing disgust every second of the way and she did her best to finish him off and send him on the way without a second to spare. In contrast to that, having a dreamy hunk for a customer would make her bite her lower lip the second he entered, imagining all the different way he’d be taking her. Being filled to overflowing is the least she expected in such cases, but she quickly acquiesced to any brazen request. Going straight for her ass didn’t even faze her – a touch of lubrication from a useful spell previously cast and she’d bent over in the most wanton of manners. A firm grip on her hair, and she’d sink to her knees, the coy, almost innocent, yet undoubtedly hungry look making it clear how eagerly she would suck him off. Of course, such behavior on her part would often cause her hunkier customers to lose control as well, but Triss certainly didn’t object to any treatment, no matter how rough. Even getting deepthroated to within an inch of her life was more than acceptable, as after the initial bout of wheezing, coughing and desperate attempts to catch some breath for her burning lungs, she’d grin in gratitude with teary eyes and smeared makeup.

It was quite a different matter, though, when her customers turned out to be witch hunters. It was hard bending over or spreading your legs when the first instinct is to scorch the bastard’s face right off. But Triss played the game, and forced herself to remember the bigger picture, even as a row of witch hunters stood at her door and her pussy was already enflamed from over-use.

Given all that, finding the treasure would be an inconceivable blessing. The only problem was if it actually existed.

As she pondered the possibility, she was distracted by an actual sound amidst the sea of silence. Who could be wandering the maze this far in?

Triss leaned against the hedge wall to her right, trying to make out the conversation between two people. At first, she barely discerned a word here and there, but as the voices drew near, the words became clearer and clearer.

It seemed to be two young women, one apparently more upset than the other.

“... me be, Edna, I don’t even want to look at you right now!”

“Come now, sister, there’s really no reason to get upset.”

“No reason?! Have you gone mad?! You always do this. I thought sending those letters to Dandelion was egregious, but you’ve really outdone yourself now!”

“It was just a game,” came the nonchalant response. “And you ought to be thanking me – _he_ has a much higher opinion of you now.”

Instead of another outraged retort, Triss heard the sound of slap. “You debased yourself for him!” the woman hissed, “and had him think you were me the whole time!”

“I wouldn’t say ‘debased,’ but it was a touch more entertaining than _your_ goal. I mean, fencing lessons, Rosa, really? How often do you meet someone as impressive? And that’s as far as your imagination takes you?”

Triss wondered of whom they were talking about, but even as she pondered that, there was something about the names of these two she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Why did they sound familiar?

“Oh, and I suppose I should’ve whored myself out to him like you did?”

“Whoring out, me?” came the breathy chuckle. “I don’t think so. _You _on the other hand – you had him in your cunt, your ass...”

“Stop it...”

“You had him in your mouth no less than six times, you little slattern.”

“You... you bitch. How could stoop to that kind of depravity and let him think I was the one doing it?!”

“And honestly, Rosa, _demanding _that he finishes on your face? Why, I never knew you had it in you.”

“Enough!”

The scream came with such piercing indignation Triss immediately cast a cantrip on the hedge, causing the few branches in front to curve away and allow a tiny slit for her to see through. On the other side, she saw what could’ve been a mirror image, if the woman grasping the neck of the other had not worn different clothes. But for the wardrobe – the outraged one in a gray tunic, and the playful one in an elegant black dress – the two sisters were identical. And now Triss had no trouble recognizing them: Rosa var Attre and her twin Edna.

Triss didn’t know the two Nilfgaardians, but she did know _of them. _The rumors surrounding two young women were not something the sorceress put much stock in, yet now, with the scene unfolding before her, the redhead wondered...

“Why are you doing this?” Rosa demanded, her hand clasped firmly around her sister’s neck who didn’t seem that perturbed by it. “Do you hate me so much?!”

“Hate you? I love you, you fool.” It was the first sentence from the brunette’s mouth that was not laced with insouciance and teasing innuendo. Triss had no doubt it was true. “And I only do this, because I want you for myself.”

Triss’ heart skipped a beat. Is she really saying that...?

“No...” Rosa exhaled, her hand slackening. “I told you never to speak of that again.”

“Of what?” Edna smirked, “How you came home one night and _fucked your own sister?_”

“No, please, it was... the wine. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“No? I, on the other hand, reveled in every second of it. And speaking of hands, I dream of having yours deep inside me once again.”

“Edna, please...” Rosa shook her head and started pulling back, only for her sister to grab her wrist and yank her back into her embrace.

“No need for begging,” Edna breathed huskily, “You can have me any way you want.”

“This is insane. How can you... we’re sisters!”

“Entirely inconsequential. What _is _of consequence is how far I’m willing to go to make this happen. Who knows what sick, depraved thing you might be caught doing otherwise, Rosa. Honestly, this doesn’t even begin to compare.”

“You’re deranged. You’d blackmail your own sister into...”

“Fucking me? Yes, I would. Because despite that paltry mask you put on, I have no doubt you’d want me on my knees, my tongue deep in your cunt, or knowing you, slithering inside your arse--”

The sentence was cut off by another slap, Edna’s blushing cheek revealing just how hard she was struck. But the very next moment, Rosa seemed regretful of her action and she reached for her sister’s face – paused for a moment – then clashed their lips together. Edna welcomed the advance eagerly, pulling her sister close as Rosa’s hand slithered down her dress to reach under the hem. They kissed for a few moments still but then Edna broke it off as a moan was torn from her and Triss knew: Rosa was inside her.

She quickly established a fucking motion, trailing kisses down her sister’s neck as if to allow each of Edna’s moans to slip free. While her right hand slowly picked up speed pistoning inside Edna, Rosa’s left one slipped down to her sister’s breast, gently tweaking the nipple over the thin fabric, eliciting a surprised yelp. Taking stock of the reaction, Rosa seemed to ponder an idea for a second before pinching the nipple anew, this time with a viciousness that had Edna moaning in pain as much as from arousal.

“You will speak to no one of this,” Rosa warned as she kept fucking her, to then emphasize her point with another painful squeeze: “Is that clear?”

“Yes!” Edna acquiesced with mewing despair, “Gods, yes, just don’t stop.”

And her sister didn’t. The combined sensation of pain on her breast and pleasure burning between her thighs proved too much. She grunted her wanton release into the air, humping Rosa’s fingers as she rode out her climax.

Her grin slowly retreated into a soft smile, as she opened her eyes to look at Rosa with utmost adoration.

“This is all I ever wanted for us,” she breathed out, before kissing her sister chastely.

“Edna, promise me. No one must ever know of this.”

“You have my word.”

“And if I ever catch you impersonating me again...” Rosa warned, though with a certain jest in her voice.

“You’ll what?”

Rosa leaned in, breathing the rest in a husky voice: “I’ll fuck your cunt raw.”

“You know that’s more of an encouragement than a deterrent?”

“Shut up,” Rosa said, and pulled out her sopping digits out of Edna before stuffing them into her mouth. Predictably, her sister licked them clean obediently, though Triss was still mesmerized by the trickling arousal she briefly espied on her inner thighs. “And clean yourself up, you look like you’ve just been had by half the guests at the party.”

“Mmmm, if that’s a scene you’d like to see, I’d be willing to indulge you.”

Rosa rolled her eyes and smirked as she left her sister behind, muttering something about ‘utter depravity,’ as she disappeared behind a hedge wall.

Triss took that as her cue, and she pulled the branches back as she stepped towards the fountain. By the time she washed her slightly perspiring face Edna was gone as well, which she saw through the leftover slit in the wall. But she only sat on a nearby bench for a couple of minutes before another voice reached her.

“Well, well. Little miss Merigold. And what are you doing here all by your lonesome?”

The mask obscured the man’s face, but the voice was unmistakable.

“Moritz,” Triss spoke back, her voice tinged with annoyance. After their brief encounter at the estate entrance, she didn’t expect to speak to him again. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about leaving the city, your presence is unwanted.”

“Oh? And here I thought you could use the company. Your white-haired companion certainly doesn’t seem to think so.”

“He’ll join me soon enough.”

“I doubt that very much, Merigold. Last I saw him, he was neck-deep in his fourth round of Gwent, with a row of players waiting to take him on. I don’t think you’ll be seeing him for a while.”

Triss’ jaw clenched. Gwent. Of course it was fucking Gwent. And here she was thinking he’d be scaling the maze walls to find her. How naive she had been.

“What is it that you want, Moritz? You made it clear back there you want nothing to do with me.”

“You didn’t buy that, did you?” he chuckled as he sat beside her. “That was for the benefit of your friend. I thought you might not want him caching onto our... previous collaborations.”

“That was in the past,” she spoke with feigned disinterest.

“Yes, of course. Still, the past has a funny way of catching up to the present, wouldn’t you agree?”

Only moments ago, the same comment would’ve had Triss rebuff his advances without a single thought. But the image of Geralt playing that damnable game while she was here waiting for him was beyond infuriating. Suddenly, what Moritz seemed to be implying wasn’t as disagreeable.

“I suppose,” Triss finally relented. She could almost see him smile as he removed his mask, though her gaze was still toward the fountain.

He leaned in closer as he continue. “You know, I still can’t fathom why your companion would leave you here all by yourself,” a comment which made want to roll her eyes. He didn’t need to press the matters further, but thought he still needed to work her. If only he knew. “A company of a woman like you versus a game of cards? Laughable, I say.”

“And just what kind of woman am I, Moritz?”

“A unique one, to be sure,” he said as he leaned closer still, his next words barely louder than a whisper. “I’ve never known anyone else who can climax from simply being taken up the arse.”

Triss couldn’t suppress a bark of laughter at those words. “You are beyond disgusting.”

“Probably. But then, that’s one of the reasons we got along so well, isn’t it? And I see no reason not to continue our... friendship.”

“Just what kind of continuation did you have in mind?” Triss prompted, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Well you know I like to improvise, Merigold. Why don’t you bend over the bench and we’ll take it from there?”

She shook her head in feigned disbelief, the tiny smirk spreading into a grin. “You have some nerve, Moritz. Who do you think I am?”

“Oh I know exactly who and _what _you are, dear. Which is why I know you’ll do it.”

Triss removed her own mask to look him in the eyes. “And if I don’t?”

“If you don’t, no harm. I hear Gwent tournaments don’t really last more than a few hours.”

She remained undecided for a few moments, then lifted her hand and licked the tip of her index finger. She breathed a quick spell over it and drew its sodden tip against her thigh. A moment later, she felt the well-known sensation of moisture settling against her anus.

“Oh, how I’ve missed that spell,” he noted.

“This is only a onetime thing.”

“As you wish.”

Without further ado, he rose and flipped her over the bench rest as he hiked up her dress over her back. For a few uncertain moments, Triss awaited the feeling of his cock against her back entrance. Instead, he smacked her right cheek with a vicious slap.

“Have you forgotten how to do this, Merigold? Arse up, legs apart.”

The nerve of him. There was nothing wrong with her stance and he knew it. But part of their dynamic was that he liked telling her what to do as much as she liked obeying. Top that with a little humiliation and Triss very much doubted this would be their last encounter. So she did as he asked and presented herself to Moritz even more wantonly.

He finally pressed his tip against her anus, smearing the thin layer of moisture from the spell all over it.

“By the gods, you’re hungry for it. Perhaps I should have you beg me to take you.”

Triss glared in frustration. If she were to leave it to Moritz, they’d be here all day. Luckily, she knew how to get him going.

“Moritz, the only thing you seem fit to take is a bath.”

“Mouthy bitch!” he growled and painfully slapped her ass again. “You won’t be as talkative with my cock down your throat.”

“Oh I doubt that little thing you call a-- AH!”

The cock she’d just started to make fun of tore through her back entrance, embedding itself half way in. Even with the lubricating spell, Triss was taken off guard by the sudden sensation. She’d forgotten the girth Moritz had, and for a few second she struggled to adapt to it.

“What was that, Merigold?” he taunted, and pushed himself further in. “You were about to say something?”

“Ugh, you... you bastard,” Triss gritted her teeth. “You could’ve given me a warning.”

“Now what would the fun in that be? Besides, I seem to remember you being fond of surprises ‒ especially the kind that makes it difficult to walk afterwards.”

Triss couldn’t deny his words any more than she could stop the man from embedding himself the rest of the way. She barely managed to suppress a gasp, not wanting to give him the satisfaction just yet. Though she had little doubt he’d be wrenching far more wanton sounds from her soon enough. For now, she focused on the feeling of fullness and the sliver of pleasure she that was already emanating from it. But no sooner had she began to relish it than was she robbed of the sensation as Moritz retreated from her, only to bury his cock anew.

“Ugh,” he grunted. “How the bloody hell are you this tight after all the men that have had you?”

By the gods, he talked too much. Perhaps she ought to redesign the lubrication spell to mute the man fucking her. But that would also rid her of the humiliation accompanying their encounters, and as much as Triss wished differently, words of that kind only fueled her arousal.

So she bit her lip and kept silent, as Moritz slowly gave her what she craved. He held her hips and ploughed on, making sure to bottom out with each strike. With a steady pace he plundered her back orifice, the sound of the their coupling the only thing to be heard in the otherwise silent area. Triss found herself enjoying the sodomy as much as she’d expected, but far too soon for her liking, Moritz began quickening his pace to then unleashed his seed deep into her rectum.

The redhead rolled her eyes at his ineptitude, yet said nothing as she waited for her spell’s secondary effect to kick in. And sure enough, Moritz had barely had time to catch his breath before she felt his rod harden back fully and began reaming her once again. Unfortunately, the spell had boosted his arousal as much as his arrogance.

“You’re a wanton little harlot, aren’t you Merigold? I doubt your companion has ever taken you like this.”

“Oh he has,” Triss lied through her teeth, “and he wasn’t exactly this... meek.”

The taunt worked perfectly. With an angered grunt, Moritz began slamming into her with a vengeance, violating her tender depths with fast strikes. Triss felt herself grin at the onslaught of pleasurable sensation coming from her arse, and though she knew Moritz wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long, there was no denying it would be enough bring her to a climax. Even so, she decided to press her luck further.

“Moritz,” she managed to speak out through labored breathing, “If you k-keep this up... I think I might start to yawn.”

“Insatiable whore,” he growled, and grabbed her tit with his right hand as his left slithered under her neck. He pulled close, torso pressed against her back as he hammered into her with unrestrained fury. “Maybe I should have those other bastards back there form a line and plough you into incoherence.”

“Only... mmm-f-fuck... only if... you suck off those waiting for their turn.”

“You impudent fucking-- URGH!” With a guttural grunt he flooded her bowels, hand savagely clutching her breast as well as her neck. Triss’ eyes shot upwards at the temporary lack of oxygen as the pain from her breast collided with pleasure in her ass, causing her to spray her juices in embarrassing amounts all over the ground and down her legs. He let her slump onto the bench used up as she was, and he sat next her. They rested for a few moments, with Moritz being the first to come to his senses. While Triss stared aimlessly at the sky, she felt his hand at the back of her head.

“And now for your favorite part. Clean me up, harlot.”

More than anything else, at that moment Triss needed to catch her breath. But before she could even think about protesting, Moritz shoved her head down and filled her unprepared mouth with his cock. With furrowed eyebrows she glanced up at his impudence, yet the very next moment the all too familiar feeling of a man’s rod in her mouth had her pacified: ‘Might as well,’ she thought, even as of its own volition her tongue began dutifully cleaning Moritz. When he felt her go to work, his hand pressing at the back of her head eased up a bit, but not enough to stop being a reminder of her whorish nature and slutty behavior ‒ just as she liked it.

It wasn’t long before mere cleaning shifted into what has by now become second nature to the redhead. She sucked him off with clear satisfaction, forcing herself on his rod just shy of her throat being invaded ‒ at least until Moritz figured out what she was doing and shoved the rest of the way. Gurgling sounds were torn from her throat every time his tip slipped past her limits and into her esophagus. Yet Triss made no effort to stop him; teary eyes and a sore throat were a small price to pay for the mental satisfaction she got from being engaged in such a depraved deed.

Soon the sorceress recognized the signs: Moritz’s quickened grunts coupled with increasingly rapid strokes down her throat were a clear indicator he wouldn’t last long. Sure enough, he tried pulling Triss off of him, intending to unload over her face. But the redhead had no intention of spending the next hour cleaning strands of semen from her hair. So she forced herself down once more, ignoring the burning in her throat as she took him deeper than she ever had.

Moritz was no match for such a sensation. The copious discharge from his cock went straight in the sorceresses stomach, and Triss obediently took it all. ‘A lesser whore would’ve gagged,’ she remembered Moritz’s comment upon one previous encounter of theirs, but the redhead had by now possessed skills that would’ve put any lady of the might to shame. Nevertheless, she still opted for a little petty vengeance over the attempted marking of her face with his semen. So she made a point to save some in her mouth as he finally pulled out, neither swallowing nor spitting it. Instead she rose to her feet while her was still reeling from the force of his orgasm and kissed him square on the lips, bearing the mess of his seed with her.

It was already too late, but Moritz still pushed her away in disgust, immediately wiping away his mouth with a nauseated look.

“Well that was quite lovely, Moritz,” Triss noted with a smirk and wiping her mouth while trying not to laugh. “We should do this again sometimes.”

Before he had the guts to muster so much as an insult, the beautiful redhead sauntered away, back toward the mansion and the party. A quick spell stopped the leaking from her ass, though she still decided to keep the rest inside. It should serve as a pleasant reminder while she struggled from falling asleep between endless rounds of Gwent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> questionable consent, anal (fantasy/hallucination), deepthroating (f/h), gangbang (f/h)

Go to the eastern front, they said. Your help will invaluable, they said.

Invaluable was the last thing Shani would call her work at the moment. Tedious, grueling, pointless? Absolutely. Invaluable? That part was debatable. The soldiers she tended to did, for the most part, appreciate her being there. But as the redhead made her way from one patient to the next, she couldn’t help thinking all her work amounted to nothing. For every sutured wound or mended burn there where double the wounded being brought in. Just the sight of a seemingly endless sea of tents was enough to bring about a feeling of despondency. The number of men inside... that was best not even thinking about.

It wasn’t as if she was the only medic tending to the wounded. But the medical staff of the Redanian army was apparently stretched so thin she never saw any of the others. Consequently, the work she did there demanded all of her skills, as soldiers that happened to be nearby were of little more help than holding a man down or fetching a bucket of water. Hours of upon hours of arduous tasks took their toll, and only a few days later she was utterly exhausted.

The commander understood of course. At the end of each day when Shani submitted her verbal report, he nodded to her plight with clear honesty, yet still claimed there was nothing to be done about it. The young woman didn’t blame him. She knew the man was but a pawn, just like her, and that he had his orders from which he was not allowed to deviate. But in the same vein, she also knew there was only so much of this she could take. Collapsing from exhausting wouldn’t serve anyone any good, so as Shani retired for the night, her thoughts wandered to the one person who had warned her going to Kaedwen might be more demanding than she had initially assumed.

The sorceress Keira Metz and Shani had first met in Oxenfurt when the latter was hired to help on the autopsy of a murder. For reasons unknown to her to this very day, Metz appeared one day at the hospital, with a thinly veiled yet abundant interest in the victim. Whatever the sorceress’ interest had stemmed from, Shani was far more impressed by the woman’s keen knowledge of human anatomy, and expertise in biology that rivaled her own. Thus the two struck up a conversation beyond the facts of the case at hand, and it wasn’t long before they began meeting on a weekly basis, quelling a need for friendship they both felt unfulfilled at the time. Just as the redhead had began wondering whether there was another aspect to Metz’s amiable rapport (something Shani wouldn’t have been averse to) the sorceress declared one day she must immediately depart and that was the last Shani had seen of her.

Nevertheless, before leaving, she mentioned Shani’s vacillating in regards to helping out on the eastern front. It was on that last night that Metz presented her with a gift ‒ a neatly wrapped package betraying no clue of its contents. Metz merely instructed her not to open it unless she decided to head for Kaedwen, and even then only if the challenges of her work proved impossible to deal with.

So it was with a note of apprehension that Shani held the same package now in her tent. Curiosity overcame the enervation, and within a few moments she was discarding the wrapping paper to the floor, her hand holding an unusually-shaped potion bottle. As she stared at the glassy object and the emerald liquid within, a part of her reflected that she did not actually know the sorceress that well, so that perhaps some caution was warranted. But then the professional part of her reemerged and she concluded the color and viscosity of the liquid much resembled the endurance potions she’d seen herbalists sell many times before. There was some difference of course, but Shani attributed it to the fact this one was made by a sorceress rather than a herbalist, so it was in all likelihood more potent.

Sure enough, when she glanced back at the crumpled paper on the floor, she also discovered a note with elegant, cursive handwriting spelling out the words:

_When trouble comes brewing_

Shani inwardly chuckled at the wordplay and turned the note to find some brief instructions. Apart from confirming what she had already surmised, the message specified that, due to its composition, the potion takes several hours to come into effect, and that due to its strength only a sip or two were sufficient for a daily dose. But feeling confident in her professional knowledge and knowing an increased dose of the thing had no deleterious side-effects, Shani downed a whole dozen swigs in one go. If today was any indicator, she’s going to need it.

*

In the light of the morning, Shani woke completely refreshed. Not only were all traces of exhaustion gone, she felt positively brimming with energy; as though she could take on the world if need be. More than that, the cold water she used to wash her face every morning somehow felt invigorating, the colors of the morning rays seemed much brighter, and the prospect of the day to come was something she was looking forward to rather than dreaded. So she opted to skip the early breakfast she usually had before making her rounds, and went about her work with an energetic bounce to her step.

When sundown started to close in, the redhead was still at it, making a bee-line from one tent to another just as much to treat new patients as it was to check up on the old ones. And though she approached it all with no less enthusiasm than she did this morning, now Shani was also feeling a sliver of worry. One would expect a whole day’s work to drain her of energy at least to some degree but she felt as alert and vigorous as ever. Perhaps even more so. If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought she had more vitality than she did this morning. Luckily, that’s now how stamina potions worked. At least... those made by herbalists didn’t.

No... no, she was probably imagining things. Yet as much as she tried to convince herself of that being the case, clinging to the idea was becoming harder. As she looked in on the last few patients of the day, she became aware of a sheen of sweat clinging to her skin ‒ an unusual thing since the nights here were quite cold indeed. Apart from that, a strange sort of anxiety began to worm itself inside of her; some ill-defined sensation that made her want to run her rounds ten times over and ideally jump into an icy lake afterward. By the time she got to her last patient, it was impossible to dismiss the likelihood of something being wrong. Either way, being the professional that she was, Shani decided to tend to the man before worrying about her own problems.

The redhead slid inside the small tent at the end of a row, to find only one of the four cots occupied. The other three men were probably on the battle lines. If it had been her own decision, she would’ve had all patients under a single roof, where they could be more easily tended to. But the commander had explained the wounded were numerous, and that all but the most dire of cases were to be remanded to their own tents. Thus Shani found herself leaning down to the wounded man to inspect him. His right arm and upper thigh were bandaged up, due to the injuries he suffered under a salvo of flaming arrows. His condition was no joke, but with a little care, Shani concluded, he would be fine.

Just as she was about to get up, the man she thought was in deep sleep grabbed her hand, staring at her for a few seconds before asking whether she had something for the pain. The redhead looked aside at him startled, momentarily taken aback by his piercing blue eyes. It was disgraceful, she reflected, that this handsome young man should bare the pain of his wounds just because of the incompetence of his superiors. Yet as much as she wished it were different, the fact was pain medication was scarce, and those too needed to be conserved for more serious wounds.

Shani would’ve liked nothing more than to ease his burden, to alleviate his pain or at least take his mind off of it. It was her job, no ‒ duty. But there was nothing she could possibly... unless...

The thought came as a complete surprise, seemingly out of nowhere. Yet every second she spent thinking about it, the idea made more sense. She _was _here to help these men. She _was _here to care for them. To lessen their pain, in any way she was able... Difficult circumstance call for difficult choices, though it was with surprising ease that Shani _reached down to the man’s supine form to kneel by his side. There was no hesitation as she unbuttoned his pants and slid down his under garment. With a steady hand she clasped his manhood, mesmerized by its girth even in a semi-erect state. It was with fascination that she watched the thing harden in her stroking hand, proving ever more irresistible to the young woman. Her throat seemed parched at the sight, as if her very body thirsted for it. Delaying not a second more, Shani leaned down to wrap the cock with her wanting lips, instinctively following up with a few circular licks around its head. Already the tip gifted her with a few drops of precum, the taste of which felt absolutely divine to her palate. Continuously stroking the base, she lowered her head further to better swallow the rock-hard rod, relishing the tactile sensation at the back of her throat. Up and down, up and down... each motion seemed to bury the soldier’s manhood deeper. Shani was surprised to feel no discomfort from the welcome intrusion __‒ not once did she gag or sputter as she dutifully swallowed him whole. But even that was not enough for the redhead. This man, she reasoned, risked his very life to help preserve hers. It was only natural that her own gratitude equaled his sacrifice. And the one greater feeling than that of her lips around his manhood, she knew, was the tightness of her throat. She pushed herself beyond previous limits, until the very tip of him began invading her esophagus. The first time she pulled back, but after the second one she took him more and more __‒ until he was buried within her fully. The lack of breath seemed inconsequential; even her tearing eyes were of little importance. Shani eagerly accepted each millimeter, thankful she was given the privilege of providing this little relief to the brave man. The generous outpouring of cum she then felt was an affirmation of her efforts; her throat was flooded with the white liquid with a suddenness that would’ve taken her off guard were she not so committed to the task. As it was, she dutifully swallow each drop, relishing the taste in her mouth when she pulled back to allow him to coat her taste buds as well. Having cleaned him thoroughly, Shani rose as in a daze, _staring the seemingly unconscious man for a few minutes.

What had just happened?

The pants he was wearing were buttoned up, and not trace of her impropriety could be seen. Did she actually cover up her behavior with instinctive speed, not noticing what she was doing while her mind struggled to process what she had done? No... that seemed unlikely. Had she actually imagined the whole thing? That didn’t ring true either... The images of her deed were far too vivid, unlike any dream or fantasy. She still felt _the taste of him _on her tongue, her body still remembering the feel of his cock down her throat. And yet... the man’s eyes were closed as he lay there completely oblivious.

Rather than spend another second pondering the implications of it all, Shani rushed outside and made her way back to her tent. As she walked, she noticed several men gave her these... looks. Did they always look at her like that? Or did they somehow know? With that thought Shani surreptitiously traced the outline of her lips, checking whether even a drop of something less than proper betrayed her misdeed.

Nothing.

The second she entered her tent, she sat in front of her vanity to examine her appearance in greater detail. Here too nothing seemed out of order: She looked like a medic. Not someone who chocked herself on a soldier’s cock to make him forget his plight. Whatever happened back there, was something that she was currently ill-equipped to explain. So despite not feeling tired, she forced herself to go to bed, confident that in the light of the morning it will all be forgotten.

When Shani finally managed to fall asleep, her dreams were filled with spurting cocks and whorish moans.

*

The next day she felt no better. That weird feeling of anxiety had returned in full force, and the memories of last night, if anything, seemed even more vivid. Nevertheless, the redhead knew she had a job to do so after forcing herself to eat a modest breakfast, she started to make her rounds.

For the rest of the morning, her work was largely uneventful. The usual slew of arrow and sword wounds, with a few more serious cases in between. Shani did her best to focus on what she was doing, but despite her efforts, every now and then she was met with these... distractions. For one, the looks men gave her last night as she returned from her tent continued even now, and in greater number. And she knew those looks well ‒ the ill-concealed and animalistic desire that most men in the city did their best to hide. Here, the soldiers’ eyes roamed over the swell of her breasts, the curve of her ass, the length of her legs (damn it, why had she forgotten to put on her tights?). And the worst part of it all was that she didn’t even mind. Shani had always taken a pride in her appearance, and if her svelte form proved appealing to these brave men then she was glad they wanted her; that they thought about her.

What would those thoughts look like, the young woman wondered. If their hungry gazes were anything to go by, they’d be nothing short of utterly depraved. More than one would have her kneeling, making use of her mouth in any way they wanted. Some would likely let her take the lead, content in allowing her decide how best to approach satisfying them. Others would be far more rough and unconcerned for her comfort, no doubt ‒ Shani could quite clearly envisage the tall soldier standing by the entrance grabbing the back of her head with both hands as he forced himself in her mouth and ploughed into it until he emptied himself down her throat and into her belly. Though she wasn’t aware of it, the redhead smiled at the thought.

Some time went by with Shani doing her work accompanied with these intrusive thoughts. Yet as more hours passed, she found it increasingly difficult to do so. The line between what she imagined and what was real slowly began to blur, and deciding between the two was proving ever more challenging. With increasing frequency she found her gaze drawn to that of the men around her, stopping dead in her tracks when she would catch one of them taking off his uniform, or another pouring a bucket of ice water over his naked torso to relieve the heat. Did she imagine prolonging her examinations as her hands roamed over a man’s muscled physique? Did she imagine a random solider brushing himself against her arse in a tight passage, clearly letting him feel his rock-hard manhood? Was it only her fancy that conjured up the feeling of someone slapping her behind as she made her way amidst a row of men? These were questions she could not readily answer.

So when a messenger came to summon her to the commander’s tent, Shani stepped out into the clear air with a bit of relief. Yet the relief was short-lived. On her way there she was assailed yet again with their gazes, with rows that she had to worm through and in doing so be – perhaps accidentally - felt up, stroked; a slap on her ass here, a brush against her breast there. Shani forced herself to hurry, stumbling clumsily and more desperately through the increasingly brazen men that were probably, no ‒ had to be only in her imagination. When she finally reached the entrance of the commander’s tent, she opened it and covered her mouth so as not to gasp from the startling shock.

The commander himself sat in his chair, casually going over the contents of a scroll. But beside his desk Shani saw _herself. Naked, bent over, each hand held by a different guard as a third one fucked her freely from behind. _She closed her eyes, hoping the sight would disappear when she reopened them.

It didn’t.

As she slowly walked over to the commander, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from _the glazed look on her face, spit trickling from her parted mouth just like the copious semen running down her thighs ‒ evidence of the dozens of men that have had her._

“I’ve received word that one of our patrols has been ambushed,” the commander stated as Shani forced herself to look away from the depraved scene to her right. “Given the state of the wounded, they are unable to make a swift return, lest their injuries be aggravated. But they should be here before dawn...”

Dawn. What dawned on Shani was _how wonderful it must feel to be taken by one man after another. It had to, or else her lips wouldn’t be curving into vague smile as the soldier rutting into her finally unleashed his seed into her over-used cunt, adding to the countless number before him._

“... so I’ll need you to be ready for them.”

“I’m always ready to take care of your men, sir,” Shani said the first thing that came to mind, then blushed at the implication of it. The commander, however, apparently thought nothing of it.

“Very well then. You may return to your duties.”

Duty. Yes. It was her duty to service the men. Cunt, arse, mouth... she was there for their use, after all ‒ whether they chose to take her one at a time or several at once, gently or roughly, it mattered little in the end. Because either way, she’d always end up used up and dripping with seed, her wanton moans filling the tent like they did as she hurried outside, desperately trying to escape the all-too real sounds of herself being ploughed.

When she finally emerged, fresh air brought some clarity, if only for a moment. Fantasizing is one thing, she analyzed, but full on hallucinations about seeing herself in that... position? That was cause for concern. It took only a few seconds to remember the cause of it all.

The potion.

That damn potion.

That’s it then. The first thing she needed to do was to go back to her tent and find some way to counteract the effects of what was happening to her. But her goal lay at the other end of the compound and already she could feel that sliver of clarity sleeping away; already she could hear the moans from the commander’s tent (though now they almost seemed to come from inside her mind); already her mind was wandering toward the men around her and activities far more interesting than tinkering with potions.

But no. She will make it. She had to.

She set forth down a nearby passage, doing her best to keep her mind on the one thing and one thing only. The mounting anxiety as she hurried over the slippery mud, the sheen of perspiration on her skin ‒ those were things she managed to ignore. But her thoughts were far more difficult to reign in, and when her clumsy gate caused her to slip and fall down, the dam broke.

As she lay on the ground, her eyes fell upon the interior of a nearby tent, where once again she saw _herself ‒ standing surrounded by men. One had his hand down her panties, the other pawed at her breast through her unbuttoned shirt, as yet another ground his cock on her pert ass. Two more would’ve done the same at her sides, were her own hands not wrapped around their stiff cocks as she stroked them simultaneously. Not only did she welcome the advances, her lips formed a grin more lascivious than that of a sorceress moonlighting as a whore. And when the man behind her pressed the tip of his rod against her back entrance, she turned around with a token protest, chiding at him with a smile an arched eyebrow. Yet she made no move to stop him when he slipped past her puckered orifice; only her lips parted in surprise as he buried himself in her rectum._

Shani forced herself to pry her eyes away from that obscene yet disturbingly arousing sight and rose to her feet. She picked up the pace and went onward, carefully minding the slippery mud underneath her feet. She’d barely made a dozen steps forward when she reached a little clearing and froze.

_Bent over a wooden crate, Shani’s naked body was on offering to a row of waiting men. A sign on a nearby post said ‘troupe relief,’ complimented by tally marks scrawled on her thighs, ass and back. And the most amaz—no, disturbing thing was not the overflowing river of cum leaking out of her ass, but the fact her cunt was completely intact. Each and every soldier was there to sodomize her, and if the lack of restrains was anything to go by ‒ of her own volition._

Shani ran.

Heedless of the mud, or the men, or anything else; stopping only when she finally reached the interior of her tent. Pausing for breath was a luxury she could not afford, so she dove right into her belongings for something that could counteract the effect of the potion. Yet after more than half an hour of searching, she was forced to conclude she was out of luck. She had come here prepared for war injuries, not potions brewed with sorcery. With a resigned sigh she sat at her vanity, her own reflection staring back at her from the mirror.

Minutes passed, with only Shani’s uneven breathing breaking the silence. Thoughts of sheer depravity closed in on her even now, making her afraid to leave her tent. There was little doubt she was now unable to do her job and it was only a matter of time before somebody comes for her. And then what? They will see her state, the sheen of sweat, the flush of heat in her body, and now a drop of arousal making its way down her inner thigh. She will make excuses, admitting she was unfit to do her duty. Well... one duty perhaps.

In a haze-like state, Shani looked down at the makeup she’d placed next to the mirror. Her hands didn’t feel as her own when she took the crimson rouge and applied it to her lips, nor when a touch of black eyeliner was applied after. A touch of blush seemed unnecessary, since her cheeks seemed flushed enough. When she looked up at the reflection, her gaze was not met by a venerable medic, but a lady of the night. Far more fitting, she thought, since that seemed to be the only way she felt able to service the men. Just as she was about to get up and do something unthinkable, her tent entrance swung open to let in a winded messenger.

“Commander sends word that you’re needed at the...”

He stopped dead when Shani quickly rose to her feet and stood before him with indignant anger. Some sliver of her usual personality reared its head, yet even that bizarrely entwined with the effects of the potion. She glared at him for only a few seconds before her hand surged to his britches to painfully grab his cock over it.

“I’m _needed, _am I?” she demanded coldly, as he winced in pain and stared back in shock. “I know exactly what you need me for. You don’t think I notice how everyone looks at me here?”

“I... I... I... don’t k-know what you--” he stammered, only to be cut off by the redhead.

“Enough,” she said. “Who the hell do you think you are? Always looking, wanting, needing... I’ll have you know, I studied from the finest minds at the Oxenfurt academy and I will NOT be passed around this camp like a common whore! Is that clear?!”

The man immediately nodded, though his chagrined face showed he wasn’t clear about any of this but placating seemed the far better option while his genitals were at the mercy of the redhead. Shani, on the other hand stared at him, her mind a mess of jumbled thoughts.

What is this? What is she doing?

She’s standing in her tent gripping the manhood of an unknown man.

It’s the potion, she concluded ‒ another hallucination. And as far as those go, he wasn’t exactly bad looking. If he were real, she would’ve settled for a glance or two. But as it was, there really was no harm in indulging with something that wasn’t there.

Still, his cock certainly felt real, especially after Shani loosened her grip a little and slowly began stroking it.

“However, I do have a responsibility towards you men, don’t I?” she asked, and the messenger vaguely nodded, though confusion never left his face. “It would be sheer neglect on my part if I didn’t make an effort to tend to your needs, wouldn’t it?”

Before the man had a chance to nod again, Shani grabbed him by the arm and shoved him onto her bed. If he was about to protest, the quick unbuttoning of his pants by the redhead put a stop to it. The young woman pulled out his cock, gave it a few more strokes before quickly discarding her own undergarments. Wasting not a moment more, she climbed onto him and aimed his tip to her entrance, then lowering herself so that he was buried inside her silky depths all the way. The feeling of fullness alone was enough to elicit a blissful sigh and a grin from the redhead, but she needed more.

Not wanting to trust a mere messenger with her own satisfaction, Shani braced herself on the headboard and began a slow undulation of hips, fucking herself on the stiff rod. She took him deeper, harder, faster, her mind mercifully focused on nothing but the burning pleasure between her thighs. Each second brought her closer, and it wasn’t long before her energetic movement made her peak as with a breathless gasp she felt her cunt being flooded even as her own arousal sprayed onto the sheets. She bit her lip, grinning in content, savoring the sweet release that had been long overdue.

“Mmmmm,” she cooed. “The Oxenfurt Academy thanks you for your generous donation, sir,” she quipped with a giggle, and then collapsed beside the still bewildered man. She coasted on the afterglow for quite a while, and when she finally opened her eyes, the messenger was nowhere to be seen. Moreover, that earlier anxiety as well as her incoherent state of mind had slowly began to evanesce and in no more than a dozen minutes Shani was feeling like her old self again.

With that, however, came the mortification over what she had just done. Now that could analyze everything more clearly, it was perfectly evident that the messenger that she had just fucked on the bed was no hallucination at all. And to be sure, one finger slipping past her nether lips immediately brought with it the sensation of seed filling her cunt. She watched the coated digit with embarrassment, then guiltily glanced at the entrance before licking the thing clean ‒ she had always made a point to know what every man she’s been with tasted like (call it professional curiosity), and it seemed a waste to miss the opportunity here. Her one saving grace amidst all of this was that she knew the messenger wouldn’t dare admit this encounter to anyone, lest he risk the wrath of their commander.

Shani’s own wrath however, was only just beginning. Reflecting on the events that had led up to this, she inevitably remembered who it was that had given her the potion and subjected her to the whole ordeal. And though she had been lucky that the only consequence she suffered was one confused and thoroughly fucked messenger, Shani still vowed to get back at Keira Metz the first chance she got. In fact, while she removed the makeup from her face, she decided to concoct a course of vengeance that very evening. In the meantime, she had patients to tend to.


	3. Chapter 3

The mountain road was a treacherous one. Now that she was climbing up the winding path, Yennefer could see why the villagers warned her against using a horse or a cart. The weather was at least mercifully appropriate; no gusts of wind or blistering blizzard to add to the danger. Even so, the raven-haired sorceress would’ve preferred to use magic in getting to her intended goal. Unfortunately, using portals to move oneself to places previously unvisited was even less advised than trekking up the steep cliffs of peaks as jagged as this. However, in the end, none of that really mattered. Finding Ciri was still a priority for Yen.

Having stumbled upon dead-ends with her last few clues, Yennefer was forced to rely on rumors, regardless of how far-fetched they might be. This particular piece of information she’d overheard in a tavern: two ragged-looking drunkards did, among their slurred musings and drunken mutterings, mention a witcher that supposedly had dealings with an ashen-haired girl. What the dealings were and if indeed there were any, the sorceress had not managed to find out. But the two men were fairly convinced the witcher in question had a temporary hideout somewhere up the mountain, as he always seemed to come down to the town from that direction. By now, ironically enough, the trail was rather cold, but the circumstance of Ciri and a witcher seemed a bit to specific for a complete falsehood. Even if the witcher turns out to have long since moved on, there might be some clue as to his or maybe Ciri’s whereabouts in his secluded lair. The very chance of it made Yennefer press on with increased determination.

Making her way forward, Yen reached an opening between two slopes that looked almost untraversable. But then her eyes espied slight indentations in the snow that had almost certainly been footprints. Deciding on the best course of action, she carefully waded through the thick snow while staying alert for any potential danger from above. After several minutes, she came upon a wooden platform. The stairs leading away from it had all but collapsed, which meant the original approach to the hideout was not the way she came. To the right, a cave-like opening lead further into the mountain.

She stepped inside, removing the hood from her head and discarding the cape on top of a nearby crate. The passage descended for a little bit, but in no time at all she arrived at the entrance of a spacious, well lit chamber. Deserted and disused, bronze-like machinery was littered near the walls, with numerous pipes weaving in and out of them. Her attention however, was soon drawn to the middle of the room.

The witcher sat with his back turned to her, tending to the fire. Bald, and of a fairly bulky but muscled build, he made no sign he had noticed her enter. She was soon dissuaded of the idea.

“You’re trespassing, sorceress.”

“Does this actually belong to you?” Yen responded.

“I’ve taken ownership.”

He made no further comment after that, but simply gazed at the fire with no apparent interest in anything else. So Yen prompted him again.

“You’re the one they call Letho.”

“And you’ve been asking questions about me. Normally I find that kind of interest irksome.”

Well, at least he added ‘normally.’

Yennefer circled ‘round the fire, until she could look him in the face. He, on the other hand, didn’t deign to meet her gaze.

“The villagers say you’ve had dealings with an ashen-haired girl.”

Letho waited for a bit, then cast another log in the fire. “Villagers say many things. Hardly a trustworthy source of information.”

Yen watched his face, studied even the minuscule change of expression. Still she couldn’t decide if the witcher did in fact have what she needed.

“Does that mean you haven’t met her?”

He rose; casually strolled over to the nearby candle-lit table. He was looking over a spread map when he gave his response.

“That means you should take your leave.”

That basically confirmed it. It seemed he had met with Ciri and wouldn’t betray her confidence... or waste his breath coming up with a convincing lie about it.

“I’m not leaving until I get what I came here for.”

Rather than responding, Letho kept analyzing the map with little regard to the raven-haired woman. So Yen strolled over, grabbed the candelabra holding the map and put it to the side, causing the map to completely fold in on itself.

“You’re trying my patience, witch,” he remarked with a low growl.

“And you’re wasting my time,” Yen responded, completely unfazed. “Tell me your price and let’s be done with this.”

“I get paid a king’s ransom for my services. My price is far beyond your reach.”

Yen clenched her jaw. One dead-end. Time to try a different path.

“I’d be willing to come to a... different sort of arrangement.”

For a few silent seconds, the sorceress thought she would need to explain things further, but apparently, Letho was sharper than he looked.

“I’ve had my fill of whores for a while.”

“I’m no whore,” Yennefer shot back with an icy tone. For a fleeting few moments she considered leaving, taking her luck elsewhere and hoping another clue of Ciri’s whereabouts would present itself. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized her goal was far too important to endanger over personal discomfort. More than ever she wished Triss was by her side. Her fellow sorceress would know exactly what to say and how to act in order to get the information from Letho. And Yen certainly wouldn’t have minded patiently sipping a glass of wine while the redhead debased herself in a multitude of ways. As it was, the best she could do is try to imagine what Triss would do in her stead. So she slipped between the witcher and the table, and sat on the wooden surface facing him.

“Whores have boundaries,” she said while slowly spreading her thighs. “I do not. You can have me in any way you want, for as long as you want. Provided that in the end, I get what I came here for.”

“You’re playing with fire, sorceress.”

“Really?” Yen raised her eyebrow. “From my perspective, it seems little more than a flicker.”

They stared at each other for no more than a few seconds. The next moment, Letho grabbed Yen and flipped her over the desk. Faster than she could utter a word, the sorceress felt her skirt being lifted up and her expensive black panties torn off in one motion. She barely had time to even begin wondering if this may have been a mistake when the witcher aligned himself with her cunt and with one powerful thrust sank his manhood fully inside. Yen groaned at the intrusion, teeth gritting at the sudden feeling of fullness. If the raven-haired beauty expected some time to get used to the feeling, the idea was immediately fucked out of her as Letho withdrew and struck again. He proceeded to rut into her, setting a startlingly ferocious pace that took Yennefer completely off guard.

The table shook with each pistoning motion, and the sorceress glanced back in bewildered shock through her disheveled tresses as if for some explanation of how anyone could take her with such speed and strength. But no answer was forthcoming as she was pounded into the table; even steady breathing seemed an impossible task since every breath she took was cut in half by another vigorous strike into her tender nether region. She couldn’t say for how long Letho kept up the rapid pace, but somewhere down the line Yennefer’s own body responded. It started as a slow-blooming heat in the pit of her stomach, coupled with a hint of wetness secreted by her womanhood. Though having the witcher slam into her with all the ferocity of a wild animal was not becoming any easier to adjust, at least it was slowly being laced with her own arousal.

Every time Letho’s sizable rod ripped into her to pound against her cervix, a little more pleasure trickled into Yennefer’s lithe body. Whereas before she bit her lip to keep from voicing her distress, now she did it to keep moans at bay. The witcher may have had the privilege of availing himself of her charms, but she would not grant him the knowledge of how much she was enjoying it. At least, that was the plan.

As the violet-eyed sorceress clawed the map with her hands and did her best to appear unaffected, Letho kept ravaging her bent form with no regard for her comfort. All it took was a single moment of inattention and a wanton moan was forced from Yen’s lips, causing her to inwardly curse her weakness. And as if that wasn’t enough, Letho took her vocal admission as something of a cue, so he moved his hands that had by now rested on her hips, then grabbing the raven mane of the sorceress into a pony tail, yanking her head back as he kept destroying her cunt.

The little pain Yen felt from having her hair pulled barely registered; her body was being swallowed up by far stronger sensations. Her now freely echoing moans went unnoticed as well, as all she could bring herself to focus on was the molten fire that seemed to seep from her cunt into every part of her body ‒ and the deluge of cum being deposited into her welcoming depths. The feeling of seed dousing her womb triggered her own orgasm; she wailed like a woman possessed from the ecstasy ravaging her body. With her lust-addled mind the sorceress failed to notice Letho had slowed down only when he emptied himself inside her. What she did notice was when he immediately resumed his pace.

Whatever potions the witcher was using, they clearly granted him endurance superior even to most other witchers. And now that she found herself on the receiving end of it, Yen tried to reach back with her hand and get him to give her a moment. Instead of complying, Letho let go of her hair and grabbed her arms instead, crossing her forearms behind her back and using them to drive himself ever deeper into her. Too weak to attempt anything else, the raven-haired beauty resigned to a brutal and seemingly never-ending rampage of her pussy. Gaze unfocused, a rivulet of drool trickling from her parted lips, she didn’t even have the strength to moan any more. Instead, incoherent and half-broken mewls slipped from her lips while the force of another orgasm loomed on the horizon.

In no time at all ‒ or what had felt like it ‒ Letho unleashed another torrent of cum straight into her yielding core. She gasped feebly at the sensation, eyes rolling back as her own climax washed over her. For better or for worse, her body seemed keen on matching the witcher beat for beat in their animalistic coupling. Had she been of a clearer mind, Yen would’ve wondered if that was the effect of Letho’s potion. As it was, she could do nothing but succumb to the whims of the witcher as her mind and body were destroyed by his impressive stamina.

Several orgasms later, Yennefer’s glazed eyes told how utterly she had abandoned her senses, reduced to a drooling, climaxing mess. Only when Letho finally stopped did she somewhat manage to take stock of her situation and note with much dismay that his girth had kept all of his seed accumulated inside her, with her usually flat belly now being slightly bloated. When he pulled out, the sensation of the torrent of cum spewing forth from her over-used womanhood triggered one more orgasm from the exhausted sorceress. The obscene sounds of jism splattering on the floor should’ve been mortifying, much like the feeling of cum rivulets marking their way down her thighs.

If Letho hadn’t been holding her, she would’ve collapsed weakly onto the floor. Instead she wondered what, if anything, he could possibly have in store for her. She soon got her answer, when the sensation of a cum-coated cock pressing against her anus registered. Her lips parted as if some afterthought of protest fleetingly passed through her mind, but she had neither the strength nor the will to stop him.

She had expected some pain, but when Letho lunged forward and impaled her back door, Yen was surprised to feel virtually no pain. Whether it was because her body was overly suffused with pleasure, because Letho’s cock was sufficiently lubricated, or because Triss’ skilled tongue had previously made her anus enough of an erogenous zone... it mattered little now. More important was the fact that she was getting sodomized and suffered no discomfort over it.

Letho took to claiming her passage with no less ferocity. With vicious lightning strikes he violated Yen’s unaccustomed rectum, until he made one final thrust and flooded her bowels. One last feeble gasp was wrested from the sorceress when he pulled free of her vice-like grip. Much to her chagrin, Yen felt her anus close to keep all of Letho’s seed inside her, even as her weeping cunt failed to do the same.

For a some time, the normally alluring yet now completely disheveled sorceress remained on the table, until she heard Letho speak up.

“Fetch my wine, witch.”

She looked to the side and up at him, finding herself completely out her usual arrogant responses. He had said the words with such uncaring confidence, that Yen didn’t even consider disobeying. On weak arms she propped herself up, momentarily losing control of her legs before finding the strength to support her body. With a careful, unsure step, she made her to the fire to grab the half-finished bottle of alcohol, all the while conscious of her leaking cunt. On the way back she pondered why she even obeyed his order.

The immediate excuse that she did it all for Ciri didn’t hold. There was of course Letho’s awe-inspiring physique, such that made Yen think he would be difficult if not impossible to defeat in battle. Then there was also his highly domineering nature, matching and surpassing her own. But by the time she proffered the bottle to the witcher and found herself unable to meet his gaze, Yennefer had to conclude that the main reason was a different one. Somewhere in the space of over a dozen orgasms, Letho had claimed her ‒ not just physically but mentally as well. For all intents and purposes, he had made her his bitch. A jolt of pleasure flashed in her cunt at the very thought, but there was no denying it.

Somehow Letho had managed to do what no man had done before. He had fucked the arrogance right out of her. In its stead, Yennefer found an unsettlingly submissive streak that made her want to obey his every order. This, she concluded, was Triss must feel like with... well, everyone. But while Merigold’s whole persona was wrapped up in that submissiveness, Yen knew, or rather hoped, hers was a temporary one. For now, she found herself kneeling by his feet, making the excuse it was to not have to rely on her sapped strength. In truth, she felt it was her place to be there.

Letho finished the wine, discarding the bottle to the side. Without looking at her, her uttered his next command.

“Clean me.”

Some distant thought momentarily made Yen think she ought to oppose this, but it was instantly snuffed out. Void of her usual self-important persona, all it took for the sorceress to obey was that self-assured tone of voice ‒ Letho didn’t think she would do it, he knew. She may not have been his woman, but for now he had certainly, as he earlier put it, claimed ownership.

So Yen positioned herself before him, staggeringly beautiful violet eyes locked onto his still semi-erect rod. She gingerly made a few first licks, gathering the white fluid coating his balls, until he made a single impatient grunt and she realized she must apply herself to the task better.

With long, firm licks, she cleaned him free of his cum, then proceeding up the shaft. Her tongue slithered up and around the rod, intermittently swallowing the residue. Finally, she wrapped her lips around the cock-head and quickly licked it clean. And yet, she did not stop there. With her hand holding the shaft and her lips around the tip, Yen felt the compulsion to continue. She began stroking his cock, with her lips taking care of the glans. It couldn’t have been more than a minute when Letho spoke again.

“I said clean me, not get me going again.” She was about to pull back, but another order stopped her. “Now finish.”

Relieved that she didn’t displease him, Yennefer swallowed his manhood deeper, laving with her tongue on the way. Her hand now merely held the base, as she took him further into her mouth. For his part, Letho seemed barely affected. Leaning on the table with his palms gripping edge, he stared somewhere in the distance like lost in thought. Like having one of the most powerful women in the world servicing him on her knees was almost commonplace for the man.

In reaction to that, Yen applied herself to the task with increasing vigor. She wanted to see him affected by her efforts; a sigh or a moan, anything. She needed a single chink in his armor. Maybe that would finally break these mental shackles he seemed to have over her and allow her to resume her haughty persona. So she admitted his impressive rod ever further, devouring and slobbering over his erection like her life depended on it. Noticing no difference in his demeanor, she brought her lips all down the base, feeling the tip of his cock against the back of her throat. It still made no difference.

He drew not a sigh while Yennefer of Vengerberg choked herself on his meat, not even when she felt he was about to come, as she forced herself to swallow him whole. Suppressing her gag reflex, Yen held his manhood lodged in her esophagus, eyes tearing up and breath non-existent. And yet she persisted, needing this more than he did. Finally he deposited a torrent of cum straight into her stomach, and she only released him once he was entirely drained. Pulling free of the obstruction in her throat, Yen wheezed and gasped for breath as her lungs were at last granted reprieve. She wiped her mouth, finally daring to look up at him. He of course, seemed as composed as ever.

Damn him. Despite not wanting to do so, Yen made a mental note to ask Triss for some advice when it came to carnal matters. After all, the raven-haired sorceress knew of no one else to whom whoring came so easy and so naturally.

For now, she had at least hoped all of this would be enough.

“You make an average whore,” Letho noted, “but I do admire your devotion. I imagine the girl means a lot to you. I’ll tell you what you want to know.” He buttoned up and went to sit by the fire, while Yen breathed a sigh of relief. At least it was not all for nothing.

She picked up the torn remains of her underwear and used them to clean her thighs and cunt, forgetting the semen deposited in her bowels.

When she sat by the fire, Letho already had a map in his hand.

“I helped her out with some witch hunters. We had a few drinks. She said she’d be making her way north, to this village here,” he indicated with his fingers.

“Thank you,” Yen responded, still without the previously cold tone of her voice. She took a few steps toward the exit, but then stopped. Before she left, she needed to know.

“Letho. Did you... have her?”

Beyond her control, Yen’s mind was instantly flooded by obscene images: Ciri pressed against the wall with Letho buried inside her; Ciri bent over a chest while Letho drove himself into her pert behind; Ciri kneeling expectantly while the witcher marred her beauty with ropes of cum that landed on her face; Letho biting into her youthful, tender breast as she impaled herself on his supine form; both she, Yennefer, and her adoptive daughter on their knees, with Ciri’s mouth enveloping Letho’s cock while the sorceress pushed the girl’s head down onto it, well past her comfort zone.

Yen cleared her head of the intrusive thoughts, as she waited the answer with baited breath.

“No,” Letho admitted. “But I did hear that she and some barmaid gave themselves freely at the local tavern.”

Yen smiled at the ridiculous idea. “Lies. She would never do something like that.”

“You would know better than I,” the witcher noted and threw another log in the fire.

For a moment, Yen couldn’t help imagining all the depraved things a bunch of drunkards would do to beauteous young woman in her sexual prime. Luckily, she knew the absurd scenario would never come to pass. She made her way outside, hoping that with a little luck, she would be reunited with Cirilla soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attempted rape, (consensual) deepthroating

Crow’s perch was a curious little place. For one, there were far less crows than one would assume by its name. Then there was the matter of Bloody Baron, which contrary to his title, seemed to Ciri a genuinely decent and kind man. It was at least, what she had managed to conclude in the small amount of time she’d stayed in the palisade hold. There weren’t many people living there ‒ around fifty, if one discounts the Baron’s men ‒ though walking up the main street always gave the impression of a bustling little place.

For Ciri’s part, walking was much more pleasant after sundown: no shrill yelling of merchants, no children buzzing around or horsemen trotting up and down the dirt path. Instead, there was the quiet crackling of the occasional fire, some murmured talk here and there, all starlight to guide one’s way. It was after several nights in Crow’s perch that Ciri wandered out of the town for her usual walk, wending around the surrounding marshes without so much as a monster to impede her enjoyment. Upon return, she was climbing up the main street when somebody rushed past her, clumsily bumping into her without so much as an apology.

Ciri looked up to see one of the village girls dash away from her, toward the longhouse near the Baron’s manor. She hadn’t managed to see her face, but the long, frilly, ginger hair was a clear giveaway. Ciri didn’t know the girl’s name, though she remembered seeing her one of her first mornings here, selling assorted fruits and vegetables behind one of the main street stands. She also remembered her freckled face and vivid green eyes, as well as her own, not-entirely innocent thoughts that struck her at that moment. She wondered what the girl would be doing out at so late an hour, and moreover, why she would be in a hurry to get there. Ciri watched the redhead reach the longhouse, and in the brief moment when she proceeded inside, Ciri heard an explosion of delighted shouts and whistles coming from inside. Perhaps a celebration, the ashen-haired girl concluded.

Having decided to turn in for the evening, Ciri made her way to the little fountain between the Baron’s manor and the longhouse, intending to clean her muddied boots before heading inside. Just as she was finishing, her attention was drawn by the light emanating from the nearby window of the longhouse. Deciding to see what the fuss was all about, Ciri peered inside.

Inside the well-lit and vast chamber there were over a dozen men, some seated on chairs or tables, with several near the redheaded girl. Now that her cloak was discarded, Ciri could see she wore nothing more than a translucent white shift, with her body clearly visible underneath. Ciri felt her heart speed up at the sight, and a pang of admiration at the contour of the girl’s delicate breasts, the hourglass shape of her body, the hint of ginger hair at the apex of her sex... No sooner had Ciri taken stock of her admiration than did one of the man reach for the girl’s shift and with a swift move tore it in half. Another explosion of delighted shouts erupted, as Ciri watched the startling sight. For a moment her hand reached for her sword ‒ certainly the girl seemed likewise shocked by what had happened ‒ but then the redhead’s lips curved into a smile and Ciri released the hilt. She couldn’t tell if the girl’s smile was forced, but it did seem this turn of events was not entirely unexpected for her.

Another two men approached the redhead to rid her of the flimsy scraps that were her shift. She stood there in all her naked glory, and Ciri couldn’t help but admire her beauty any more than the men clearly did. Only admiration was not where they intended to stop. Those closest to the young woman began groping her, their eager hands roaming over her breasts, ass and inner thighs. A pinched nipple here, a squeezed arse cheek there and the next thing she knew, the redhead had two fingers thrust inside her. She yelped at the intrusion but quickly adjusted, allowing the men to have their way with her.

Meanwhile, Ciri stood outside the window, watching the scene with bated breath. The small amount of experience she had with carnal matters did not come even close to something like this, and despite knowing she should probably retreat to her room, she found herself unable to move. As she wondered what would happen next, a sudden movement caught her eye. One of the men bent the redhead over a nearby table, prying her legs apart with two quick shoves of his leg. Breathless, Ciri watched him pull out his cock, and much to her astonishment, he drove the rigid thing inside the young woman with an unceremonious thrust. Even through the window glass, Ciri heard the startled grunt of the redhead, soon followed by similar sounds as the man began rutting into her.

He pounded her as the others drank and cheered, holding onto her hips to better drive himself in. It wasn’t long before he slammed into her with a slower three thrusts, slumping over her until he stopped completely. When he pulled away, Ciri saw his semen leak out of the redhead, trickling down the pristine skin of her thighs.

The man closest to the redhead wasted not a second, and much to Ciri’s shock, he slammed straight into the gooey center where his comrade had just been. Undaunted by the deposited semen inside, he began ploughing the girl with enthusiasm, forcing a bit of cum of out of her with every stroke. From the cheers and shouts Ciri could no longer hear the girl, but watching her from the side, her lips seemed parted from enjoyment. She certainly seemed to like it when the man began emptying his balls inside of her, as her thighs stared quivering from her own apparent orgasm.

He also retreaded then, slapping the redhead’s ass before moving away. His place was immediately take by another, this one being a bald man with a small vial in his hand. Ciri watched fascinated, wondering what its purpose might be. She would not have to wait long. The man uncorked the vial, proceeding to pour some sort of oil over the girl’s exposed anus. Ciri gasped at the implication. Surely he wouldn’t...

As if to answer her question, the man aligned his rod with the orifice the ashen-haired girl would never dream of being used for carnal matters. And yet there he was, balls-deep buried in the hapless redhead. Ciri couldn’t quite make out her expression from her position and the fact half her face was covered with red curls, but she didn’t seem to be struggling too much when her lover (no, not lover, Ciri reprimanded herself for her naivety) began driving himself into her ass repeatedly. Clearly this was not the redhead’s first time doing this.

Ciri observed the girl get taken from behind, only instead of holding her hips like the last one, this man settled for slapping her arse cheek every now and then while he rutted into her. It wasn’t long that he also succumbed to the pleasure, shooting jism deep inside the redhead’s bowls. He smacked her ass one last time before retreating, and in the brief few moments where the girl was granted reprieve, Ciri was treated to an amazing sight: the reddened skin of the girl’s derriere, coupled with two leaking orifices. Once again, Ciri felt as though she ought to be looking away. It was a strange feeling, but it was as if with every passing second of the obscene proceedings, she was being stripped away of her innocence. Having focused most of her life on training, what she beheld now was far beyond anything she’d previously imagined two people might do with one another. Or in this case, a dozen men and a single woman. Still, she could not bring herself to look away, especially when the next man grabbed the redhead’s mane and with little resistance pulled her to her knees.

Needing no encouragement, the girl grabbed the man’s rod, stroked him to full hardness and then swallowed his cock-head. But rather than continuing in any sort of restrained manner, the redhead drew her pursed lips over the glans just a few times before taking the rod further into her mouth. With every fraction of a second Ciri’s eyes grew wider as she watched the girl take him deeper and deeper, until her eyes teared up and she gurgled spit around it as she basically choked herself on his manhood. Hypnotized, Ciri wiped the sheen of sweat from her brow and watched in sheer fascination how long the girl kept it up. When she finally pulled off of him, she inhaled a deep gulp of air, her mouth then curving into a lascivious grin. She quickly swallowed him whole again, this time bobbing her head up and down while holding his base. After a few minutes of that, the man seemed to mutter something and the redhead took him balls deep once last time.

Completely astounded, Ciri watched the girl’s throat contract with every swallow, imagining the current of the man’s semen running down her gullet. It was then that Ciri became aware of a blooming warmth in her nether region, the kind that she’d only known in the privacy of her own room. For now, she was far more focused on what was happening inside the longhouse: the redhead catching her breath as she wiped the saliva and cum from her lips and chin.

Perhaps out of the desire to grant her a little reprieve, the next man approached her with his stroking cock, and she in turn smiled up at him as if awaiting something. Then stripped of another layer of innocence, Ciri learned what that something was: from the tip of the man’s cock came long, ropy strands of semen that landed across the redhead’s freckled face. In no time at all her left eye was glazed shut while the cum leaked down her cheek, and yet she made no effort to wipe it away. Ciri understood why when another man approached her and began adding his own gooey load onto the redhead’s beautiful face, which now had cum over the forehead, down the nose, and a few stray drops over the hair. Yet the girl seemed completely unfazed.

Even when a third man plastered her face with jism, she still smiled and there was something about her expression that reminded Ciri of Triss. Of course, Ciri knew Triss would never participate in something as depraved as this.

Though the depravity certainly did not end there. One of the men lifted the redhead, then hoisting her legs over his arms, he held the girl with her back to his chest, and after several misaligned attempts impaled her back orifice fully. She groaned aloud, though Ciri couldn’t tell if it was from pain, pleasure or maybe both. Then, without so much as a second of reprieve, another man approached, placed his cock at the messy cunt of the girl and shoved it inside! Shocked by this turn of events, Ciri watched the two brutes begin fucking the redhead in perfect sync of powerful thrusts. How the girl was enduring such an onslaught, Ciri couldn’t not even begin to imagine, but she knew there was no way in hell she would ever let any two men ‒ and certainly not more ‒ take her in such a punishing manner.

But the redhead did let them, and she even seemed to enjoy it . It wasn’t long before she screeched and hollered her way through an obvious orgasm, her overwhelmed body shaking as if to escape the inescapable double impalement. The men didn’t last much longer, soon filling her cunt and ass to overflowing. They dropped her onto the floor ‒ all weakened and quivering ‒ onto the spumescent remains of their obscene copulation.

As nothing further occurred, Ciri concluded this to be the end of it. Still in a daze, she stepped back to the fountain, staring vacantly for a few minutes before the drops of sweat down her neck reminded her of what she was there for. She washed her face with a few splashes of water, and just as she turned around, she saw the redhead walk out of the longhouse. With a weakened, uncertain gait, she reached the fountain in her naked, disheveled state. She didn’t even notice Ciri ‒ likely because even her opened eye had strands of cum between the eyelashes ‒ though Ciri certainly couldn’t take her eyes off of her. Even as freshly violated as she was, the girl was an undeniable beauty. The dripping cum from her cunt did nothing to lessen the pale skin of her thighs nor did the gooey trickle from her ass make her derriere any less appealing.

Another thing Ciri also noticed was that the girl was not in as good of a mood as she had been inside, but she couldn’t tell whether that was from pleasure abating or perhaps having had to pretend for the sake of the men. Certainly the orgasms seemed real, as did her enthusiasm. But Ciri wondered what was her purpose there. Was she a whore? Or merely a merchant moonlighting as one until her luck started to improve? She also considered the possibility that her naivety and lack of experience had caused her to omit some entirely difference scenario. Either way, when the girl washed her face and most of her thighs, Ciri couldn’t help herself.

“Are you alright?”

The redhead turned around, and after a quick glance down Ciri’s clothing, her visage turned slightly hostile.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she bristled.

Ciri was taken aback by the tone. “I... don’t know, I just thought you might need...”

“Need what? Help from you? You city girls,” she spat on the ground, “You think you’re so much better than the rest of us!”

“N-no, I...”

“You come ‘round here, stayin’ at the Baron’s manor, eating fancy food, sleepin’ in fancy sheets, and all the while looking down on us lowly peasants.”

“No, I swear that wasn’t what...”

“What’s all this then?”

Ciri looked aside at the two men who had stepped out of the longhouse. Before she could say anything, the redhead cut in.

“It’s some prissy little bitch from the city, thinks she’s better than us.”

“Is that right?”

Before she knew what was happening, the man from her side grabbed Ciri’s arm, twisted it, and slammed her against the wall.

“What do y’a say, Cedric? Shall we teach the posh miss a lesson?” The other man grumbled affirmatively, while Ciri struggled to set herself free. “Why don’t you run along, Martha? This will take a while.”

“Now you listen to me...” Ciri warned, hoping it would be enough. The last thing she wanted was to have to teleport out of here and draw in the Hunt to slaughter all the villagers. “I am a guest of the Baron, and if you do not release me immediately, I will...”

“Oh, we’ll give you release, don’t you worry about that little miss,” he said, “and Baron’s guest or no, it’s one you’ll remember.”

He dragged his hand up her thigh to her ass, making his intention perfectly clear. Despite the likely consequence, Ciri readied her mind for a teleport, because she’ll be damned if she was going to let this lowlife take her virginity. Just as she was about to go through with it, the man’s grip slackened. He must’ve realized this would’ve been a mistake. Except... that wouldn’t explain the gurgling sound behind Ciri, or the splatter of some liquid.

She turned around to a shocking sight.

The man who had been holding her stood there with a knife thrust deep into his neck, blood spilling out his mouth before he collapsed onto the ground. Behind him stood the colossal figure of the Bloody Baron, his eyes filled with savage fury. The other man, the one called Cedric, stood petrified, his face white with fear. When the Baron turned to him, he hastily skittered away, slipping and falling on the mud to instantly get up and start running in sheer panic.

“RUN YOU MISERABLE CUR!” The Baron bellowed after him, and somehow Cedric ran faster still. Stenger watched until he was out of sight, then spat in disgust at the corpse of his comrade. “Rotten bastards... You’d think a proper day’s wage would set them straight, but clearly they need to be reminded of some manners. I’m sorry for that, girl,” he told Ciri. “You run along, while I have a little talk with my men. Rest assure none of them will so much as look at you again.”

Ciri was too shocked to even nod, but after the Baron went inside the longhouse, she pulled herself together and went to her room. There she sat on her bed, going over everything she had witnessed that night. When enervation proved too much, she fell asleep without even removing her clothes.

She dreamt of him that night.

The Baron.

Her savior.

She was his wife, adhering to the duties of a good spouse, until they were alone. In the privacy of their chambers, Ciri undressed to his admiring gaze, each layer of clothing she removed elevating her arousal. Unable to contain himself any longer, he ripped the flimsy underwear off of her and pulled her to him. Already his cock stood rock hard, and when he grabbed her ass, Ciri let herself be lifted into his strong arms, wrapping her legs around him as he aimed his powerful rod at her sodden entrance. He thrust into her, a spear of sheer pleasure wresting a moan from her lips. Her silken inner walls barely managed to accept him, the feeling of such fullness proving almost too much to handle. He began sliding back and forth, using his massive girth to split her open again and again. She clung to his body, legs and arms wrapped around him as tightly as her vaginal muscles gripped his manhood. With slow, powerful strokes ploughed into her, until climax overtook him, and he bathed Ciri’s fertile womb with his seed. Not a single drop of it escaped, and he held her so impaled as if to ensure she be bred properly.

Then the dream shifted, ushering in a difference scenario.

She was his whore. In a longhouse filled with his men many guests, the Baron sat on his throne-like chair with a naked Ciri kneeling at his feet. Unperturbed by her lack of clothing, Ciri waited patiently until her master gave her the signal. She unbuttoned his pants, pulled out his cock and quickly stroked it to full hardness. Knowing where it was going, she licked earnestly along the staff, then swallowing and slobbering all over the head. When she deemed it sufficiently slick from her saliva, Ciri propped herself up on the arm rests and, her back to the Baron, she aimed his cock to her anus and let gravity impale her back door. As usually, the Baron did no work, but Ciri’s powerful thighs and sword-practiced arms were more than up to the task. She fucked herself with his rigid manhood in full view of the crowded longhouse, with her pert tits and cunt fully exposed. Even so, she felt not even a hint of embarrassment ‒ this was far from the first time she had done this. The lithe muscles of her stomach strained with effort every time she lifted herself, before relief ensued and her toned arse was stuffed full once more. She kept at it until she finally felt it ‒ her master’s twitching rod unleashing a gooey torrent deep into her bowels. She smiled at the sensation, not from any pleasure on her part but for having pleased him and fulfilled her duty.

The scene changed again.

She was his servant girl. She carried the drinks and food for Baron’s men, but like most other nights, the more drunk they got, the more difficult her task became. Ciri didn’t mind too much. Making sure the men were fed and their cups full was only a part of her duties. Hence her choice of clothing, consisting of a thigh-length skirt and a fairly tattered shirt with the front tied to a knot so as to better expose her midriff and cleavage. As the night progressed, Ciri’s routes between the tables were interrupted by a slap on the arse here, or a brazen hand up her skirt there. She played her part, slapping away anyone more impudent than that, though it was just for show. In truth, she let them get away with more and more to the point when one of the men grabbed her by the waist and bent her over the table, she looked more inconvenienced than anything else. She glanced back at him with smiling disapproval but said nothing when he hiked up her skirt and thrust his cock into her with one clear stroke. When he was done fucking her and emptied himself inside her, Ciri blushed, tucking back a strand of hair behind her ear and rearranging her skirt, her abashed grin making her seem embarrassed to have allowed herself such indiscretion in a room full of people. She picked up her tray and went about her business, but it did not take long for her to be “inconvenienced” again. As she leaned down to pour one of the men a drink, he grabbed her ashen ponytail and brought her face to his crotch. Providing only token resistance, she soon let him enter her mouth and drive his cock all the way to the back of the throat. She coughed and sputtered but managed to suppress her gag reflex, having done this many a time before. Her eyes teared up as he held her head down, but after that he let Ciri service him on her own ‒ which she did with an energetic pace. After all, she had tables to serve. A few minutes later she swallowed the last of the cum running down her throat, wiping the trickled remains from her lips and chin. Tray in hand, she managed to deliver several more drinks. Yet she knew it would not last. With one man grabbing her hips and the other yanking her ponytail to lower her head, Ciri soon found herself spit-roasted between two men, one filling her mouth as the other took her ass. When they were done with her, her leaking ass, glazed chin and runny makeup made it much harder to quickly pull herself together. But she pressed on, serving food and drinks between each “inconvenience,” hoping by the night’s end she will have at least managed to sneak away a few orgasms for herself.

In the end, she dreamt of snowfall.

And it was that scene that woke her up.

The dreams she had had left her more than a little aroused, yet she did not feel comfortable taking care of herself. That last image was still in her mind as she dressed, and though there was certainly no snow outside of her window, she took the dream as an omen. She hadn’t intended to stay here too long any way.

Grabbing her sword and what few things she carried with her, Ciri made her way to Baron’s living quarters. Inside he was alone, sitting on his chair and going through a letter of some sort.

Ciri cleared her throat to draw his attention.

“I think it’s time I left, Mr. Stenger,” Ciri explained.

“Going, are you, girl?” he asked. “Well, I hope the majority of your stay was pleasant, at least.”

“It was,” she confirmed with honesty. “I truly cannot thank you enough for all the...”

“Bah, I’ll hear none of it. You’re always welcome here.”

Ciri smiled in acknowledgment, and meant to head for the door. But she had this nagging feeling at the back of her mind. “I just... I just wish there was some way I could repay you for your hospitality.”

“Don’t be silly. I know you’ve no coin and I wouldn’t take it if you did.”

“No, I don’t have coin...” Ciri trailed off, taking a few steps forward. “But I would still like to repay you.”

She took a few steps more, hyper-aware of her unsteady breathing, a drop of sweat running down her neck, of a hint of her modest cleavage... She’d always wondered how attractive would a sword-forged young woman be to someone in a world of buxom tavern girls and dazzling sorceresses. Perhaps this could be a way of finding out, or at least beginning to.

Her heart beat faster; the sliver of anxiety was growing, but she still felt she needed to do this. _Wanted _to do this. Without looking the Baron straight in the eye she came right to him, taking a few deep breaths. If her nervousness was showing, he did not say anything.

Emboldened by the scenes she witnessed in the longhouse the night before, and wanting to prove to herself she was no longer a little girl, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon sank to her knees, reached for the Baron and released his manhood from its confines.

Even in its non-erect state it was of impressive girth, at least if the men from the longhouse were anything to judge by. When she wrapped her hand around it, she marveled at how warm to the touch it was. Apprehensive over her inexperience, Ciri thought back to the redhead from the night before, trying to remember how she went about doing this.

She began stroking him, still unable to look him in the eye, and with a quickness that took Ciri by surprise, the Baron’s cock hardened, seemingly getting larger with every motion of her hand. Soon the girth was almost too much for her to grasp, and the length of it was equally as impressive. Aghast at its size, Ciri steeled herself for the next step. She gingerly brought her tongue to the glans to lick up its lower side. Finding no discernible taste but amazed by its texture, Ciri began laving the cock-head with more enthusiasm, as her tongue danced to its sides, the tip and all around it. Acting on pure instinct more than any memory of the redhead, she enveloped the tip of the Baron’s rod with her mouth, swallowing it whole while her tongue still did its work.

It was then that Ciri detected a hint of precum, and finding the taste pleasantly neutral, she licked it clean and swallowed every drop.

Now that she was actually doing this, all her nervousness was gone, and she relished the opportunity to show the Baron her gratitude in what was a amazing new experience for her. And while she may not have had the skills of the redhead, she was fairly sure she was doing a decent job.

Nevertheless, her inexperience did eventually get the better of her. Entirely focused on stimulating the Baron’s massive cock, Ciri missed the telltale signs of his impending climax. So she was caught completely off guard when a veritable geyser of semen exploded into her mouth, and even though she instinctively swallowed the first burst, her other instinct was to instantly pull back from the spurting rod. This proved to be a terrible idea, as the now-freed cock of the Baron shot a load straight into her eye, then more over her chin and neck. Startled frozen by this turn of events, Ciri knelt there with a dollop of jism sticking to her eyelashes. She felt she had made a fool of herself, with a bizarre urge to apologize to the Baron. But she couldn’t bring herself to utter a word or even move.

Luckily, Baron came through for her once more. He reached by his side and proffered some cloth, which Ciri gratefully took. She wiped herself clean, eschewed the urge to thank him, picked up her sword from the table and left. In the hallway, she buried her blushing face in hands, her abashed grin telling of the embarrassment she was feeling. But despite the way it ended, she did not regret her decision for a second. There was a slew of new experiences to be had on her escape from the Hunt, and this will simply be one that had not gone exactly according to plan, though it might prove useful later. For now, she resolved to head to Novigrad, hoping she could find some work along the way.


End file.
